


your cool touch against the burning of my heart

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: Crushes, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Grinding, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Movie: X2: X-Men United (2003), Pining, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You’re in love with me?” Bobby asks him slowly, like he’s parsing out his words as he says them.John frowns, frustrated. “Yeah, I just fuckin’ said that, asshole.”
Relationships: John Allerdyce/Bobby Drake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2021





	your cool touch against the burning of my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [UisceOneLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UisceOneLove/pseuds/UisceOneLove) in the [xmenrarepairs21](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs21) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Anything works here, too. 
> 
> Sucker for the enemies to lovers with them, though. Or seeing John jealous of Bobby's closeness with Rogue/Kitty.

John is  _ pissed. _ John is real fucking pissed. He stares out his bedroom window and tells himself he’s overreacting, but he can’t stop staring at the way Bobby is twirling Kitty around an ice rink he made for her like some type of icy knight in freezing armour. He fucking hates it. Hates that he never left with Magneto like he wanted, hates that he stayed around just ‘cause Bobby had smiled real pretty like at him in a way that John’s entire heart crumbling inside his chest, hates how he’d then had to watch Bobby get chased after by Rogue as John trailed after him like he was nothing. 

He hates that Bobby means  _ so much _ to him when John doesn’t know how to do anything about it. He  _ really _ fucking hates the way he burns with anger every time he sees him with a girl, or, fuck, even  _ Piotr, _ who all seem to fawn of Bobby like he’s god’s fucking gift. And he  _ is _ a godly gift, so John gets it, but—the problem is that Bobby is supposed to be  _ John’s _ godly gift. 

Because Bobby was the first person to call John  _ John. _ He was the first person who saw his scraggly limbs and his buzz cut and the oversized, men’s-aisle clothing, and asked John what he wanted to be called. John was twelve and had spent a year couch-surfing. He was a fucking  _ mess, _ but Bobby had smiled at him, lopsided and gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous, and said they  _ had _ to be best friends ‘cause their powers were opposites and that was super cool. 

And now, five years later, John is just as in love with the lopsided smile of his best friend as he’d been as a stupid kid.

_ Unlike _ five years ago, other people seem to think Bobby is just as fucking awesome as John does, which means it’s no longer just the two of them against the world. Well, it is for  _ John, _ but Bobby has a fuck ton of friends that adore him, friends that he always tries to spend time with, time that  _ should _ be spent with J _ ohn, _ friends who look at him the same way that John looks at him, and it sets his blood on fire. 

He didn’t have to deal with that when they were twelve and stupid, since Bobby hadn’t really had friends either. When John first showed up at the mansion, Bobby had been a loner ‘cause his nightmares used to freeze up his bedroom, and it wasn’t till John moved in that he even had a roommate.

But once Bobby got his powers under control and started getting hotter, more and more people started flocking to him. People who didn’t like John, or just didn’t care about him. 

Which was hard, ‘cause John’s always been the jealous type. He’s possessive, but that’s something he learned after being kicked-out at eleven. He  _ knows _ that Bobby isn’t his, that he doesn’t have any sort of claim over the other boy even if he  _ wants _ to have a claim on him, and he hates it. 

He hates that Bobby is swinging around a skating rink with Kitty. Hates that he spends his days comforting Rogue, now that everyone is talking about some bullshit Cure. He hates that some days he only sees Bobby when he comes back to their room, and on those days Bobby is usually too tired to really hang out.

He just... he misses his best friend. Misses the boy he fell in love with, the boy who wanted to spend time with him and only him ‘cause he’d been so interested in everything John was when no one else had  _ ever _ been interested in John that way. 

It’s stupid, maybe, but that doesn’t change the way John feels as he forces himself away from the window and tosses himself onto his bed. They’re supposed to be staying in their rooms ‘cause Jean hurt the Professor real bad. John doesn’t know the details—doesn’t think he  _ wants _ to know the details, honestly—but that hadn’t kept Bobby around. 

Nah. Bobby had decided that he needed to check up on his friends, and  _ somehow _ that had turned into fucking ice skating with Kitty like some type of stupid teen romcom that John could never be a part of, not with his injections and surgical scars, anyway. He isn’t the type of guy that gets the love story, and he needs to stop thinking he’ll get it with Bobby. 

No. Bobby isn’t his happily ever after or something equally fucking stupid. 

Bobby  _ does _ barres through their bedroom door only a second later, though, his breath a little heavy as he tugs off his jacket and throws it onto their desk chair. He’s moving quickly enough that John has to force himself outta his depressive mindset ‘cause Bobby’s always been real observant when John doesn’t want him to be, and he  _ definitely _ doesn’t want Bobby asking him anything now. 

“Hey, Jons,” Bobby breathes, a lopsided smile stretched across his beautiful face as he crosses the room and flops back onto his bed. John watches, trying to ignore his earlier turmoil as a plan—a fucking  _ stupid  _ plan, but a plan—forms while Bobby gets himself sat up against his headboard. 

He looks good. His cheeks are flushed from skating and his hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it more than normal.  _ John _ wants to run his fingers through it,  _ has _ run his fingers through it, and imagines how soft it would feel under his fingers, at the end of the day and with the product Bobby uses brushed out. His t-shirt stretches across his belly in a way that dries John’s mouth and he stares, daringly, in a way he’s  _ always _ stared at Bobby who’s never asked him to stop. 

Bobby has to know. He  _ has _ to know that John’s fucking in love with him, right? He grunts something in greeting to save himself an actual answer, and remembers how fucking oblivious Bobby had been when Rogue had been hitting on him when she first showed up. How he’d never actually had to turn her down, ‘cause he never even realized she wanted to date him, and John wonders. 

Maybe Bobby  _ doesn’t _ know that John’s in love with him. Maybe the other boy really is that fucking stupid, and he just doesn’t see it?

No. No, that can’t be it. John has been in love with Bobby for five years and he’s spent three of them almost certain that Bobby likes him back. Maybe Bobby’s just scared? John knows that Bobby’s parents were the worst type of bigots, the ones that promised they loved him while condemning him to sin. At least John’s had just kicked him out. 

It would make sense, John realizes suddenly. If Bobby likes him, he wouldn’t do anything about it. Fuck knows that  _ John’s _ the one who always acts on shit. Why would this be any different? 

It isn’t, John tells himself. This isn’t any different, and... maybe John has to show him that they can be together. Maybe he’s gotta take the leap and put himself out there for Bobby to get with the program. 

He just has to do  _ something, _ ‘cause if he keeps doing nothing he’s gonna lose his fucking mind. 

John takes a deep breath, tells himself the worst fucking thing that could happen is that they’d just keep going on how they’ve been going on, and pushes himself up and across their room. He’s always been one to act first and think second, unlike Bobby, who doesn’t rush into  _ anything _ unless he’s rushing somewhere after John. 

He holds his breath when he plants a knee on the edge of Bobby’s bed. His sheets are red, a counterpart to John’s blue ones—a joke for the two of them—and he slowly blows out a breath when he swings himself up and over to settle himself securely in Bobby’s lap. 

Bobby’s eyes blow wide and his mouth drops open, and John grabs onto his shoulders, lightly, resting his palms against him to keep himself steady even though it feels like he’s going to shake out of his own skin. His heart is racing and racing and racing, so loud in his own ears that it’s all he can hear as he looks down at the boy he loves.

“John, what the hell are you—”

Bobby doesn’t get a chance to finish, because John leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth. 

It doesn’t last long. 

“John, what the fuck?” Bobby snaps, his fingers twisted into the fabric of John’s shirt but his knuckles pushing John back. 

He sucks in a sharp, anxious breath, and tries his best not to sound fucking terrified as he says, “I’m tryin’ to kiss you, dumbass. What the fuck do you think?”

Bobby blinks, big, owlish eyes looking up at him. His fingers don’t leave John’s shirt. “John... why are you trying to kiss me?”

A burning, acidic laugh bubbles out from his throat as he looks up towards the ceiling. “Oh, that’s fucking great, Bobby. Keep pretending.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bobby says, again, a confused little smile on his face that John wants to try to kiss but doesn’t, since Bobby’s knuckles are still digging, sharp, into his shoulders. 

John’s face scrunches up. He doesn’t understand. Is Bobby trying to let him down easy? Does he not wanna say it? He _ has _ to know what John is doing, right? 

“Why don’t you want me?” John whispers, but his voice is still sharp enough to cut. His words are an accusation that he can’t bite down, because he’s spent  _ years  _ wanting this and making himself wait and wait and  _ wait, _ waiting for Bobby to say something, waiting for Bobby to start something, waiting because he’s been too fucking terrified to take that first step and now Bobby is pushing him away. 

“What—I-I don’t—”

“Is it because I’m t-trans?” His voice breaks, and he drops his eyes away from the crease between Bobby’s forehead so he doesn’t have to see his face when he rejects him. “If that’s it, just fuckin’ tell me, man.”

“John,” Bobby says seriously, finally, and John gets ready to leave. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Of course he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t know that John is  _ in love with him. _ Of course he doesn’t know that John thought Bobby was maybe, a little, in love with him too. 

Holy fucking shit. He doesn’t know anything because while he  _ is _ an oblivious fucking dumbass, he’s an oblivious dumbass who isn’t in love with John. 

He can’t be. 

“I’m fucking in love with you, you stupid fucking dumbass,” John whispers, in a voice he wants to be angry but isn’t anything close. 

Embarrassingly, John’s eyes start to sting. He goes to get up, but before he can Bobby’s hands move from gripping his shirt to pressing down on his shoulders with a surprising amount of strength. John tries to push against him anyway, but when Bobby’s hands start  _ freezing _ he hisses and slumps away from his grip. 

“Fuck, that shit hurts,” John snarls, his eyes stuck somewhere around the stretched-out neckline of Bobby’s shirt, which John is actually pretty sure used to be  _ his _ shirt. 

“What are you talking about?” Bobby asks, sounding pained in a way that John doesn’t like but doesn’t know what to do with. 

“I’m not talkin’ about anything,” John mumbles darkly. 

Before he can say something else, Bobby’s hands settle high on his thighs, then slide up even higher to grab his hips. “John, this isn’t something funny. You can’t joke about this.”

“I don’t look like I’m fuckin’ joking, do I?” John asks sharply, pretending that the words don’t slip out of his throat like a plea and that they’re every bit as biting as he wants them to be. 

“No, Jons, you don’t,” Bobby says slowly, and his fingers dig into John’s hips so tightly he can’t help but let out a soft little gasp of air as he finally looks up to Bobby’s face. 

Bobby’s eyes are open and honest. They’re  _ so _ blue. They’ve  _ always _ been so blue, but they look even brighter than normal, looking up at John under the glow of their overhead light. There’s the start of a smile playing across Bobby’s lips that John can’t pull his eyes away from.

“You’re in love with me?” Bobby asks him slowly, like he’s parsing out his words as he says them. 

John frowns, frustrated. “Yeah, I just fuckin’ said that, asshole.”

Bobby laughs and doesn’t let him go. John has no  _ idea _ what the fuck is going on, but he knows he’s confused as shit and doesn’t like the way it’s making him feel. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” he asks, sharp and bitter. 

Bobby laughs  _ louder, _ throwing his head back and stretching out his throat as his fingers dig into John’s hips  _ tighter, _ tight enough that John is absolutely certain he’s going to bruise. 

Slowly, Bobby’s whooping laugh calms down. John’s absolutely certain that his face has to be bright red with how warm it feels, but he doesn’t try to move again. Maybe it’s because he wants to keep Bobby’s hands on his skin for as long as he can have them, terrified that moving would mean he never gets to have Bobby touch him again. 

Maybe he’s too scared, still, of Bobby rejecting him more than he already has. 

But there are tears gathered at the edges of Bobby’s eyes when he brings his face back to look up at him, and John reaches forward before he can stop himself to brush away a trail of wetness from the top of his cheek.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen,” Bobby whispers, like it’s a secret. And it is, isn’t it? Neither of them have ever said anything but they’ve been in love with each other for  _ four years. _

What if John had said something earlier? What if  _ Bobby _ had said something earlier? Would John have left with Magneto? Would they still be together now? 

Maybe... maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe they’re telling each other now ‘cause it’s the perfect time. John doesn’t believe in shit like that, not really, but he believes in how much he loves Bobby, so. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

“I win,” John whispers right back, turning it into a competition because it feels  _ safer _ to enact an inside joke than be serious. “I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve.”

“Fuck,” Bobby breathes, and his forehead creases. “W-Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” John asks, sharply, because  _ seriously? _ John doesn’t have to look down at his now-flat chest to get the point across, but he still does. “Why do you think, dumbass?”

“John you know I’ve never cared about that,” Bobby tells him quickly, seriously, looking up at him so fucking earnestly that John kinda feels bad for ever worrying that Bobby would turn him down just ‘cause he wasn’t born with a dick. 

Still. 

“Being my best friend and wanting to fuck me or two really different things, Bobs,” John explains quietly, hoping against hope that Bobby  _ does _ want to fuck him and he isn’t just reading everything wrong. 

Before he can make a joke or say something that doesn’t make him feel so fucking vulnerable, he hisses as sharp, freezing pain erupts along his hips.

“Shit, fuck, sorry.” Bobby hisses out a curse as he takes his hands from John’s hips and shakes them out. John snickers as he sees the frost on Bobby’s fingers, and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. I got a bit overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” John asks, his breath catching in his throat as Bobby gives him a heavy look. Smiling, John slides closer in his lap, close enough that their groins press together and John can feel the hard press of Bobby against his own arousal. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, and leans forward to press their foreheads together. 

“Mhm,” Bobby whispers, his fingers sliding up John’s thighs but not moving to his bare skin. He isn’t that cold through his jeans, and it isn’t anything new for John to deal with, so he doesn’t do anything but press closer. “T-That’s why I got a little frosty.”

“Doesn’t feel like a l-little frosty to me,” John whispers,  _ horribly, _ and Bobby laughs breathlessly. “If I kiss you, are you going to push me away again?”

Bobby doesn’t answer, but John doesn’t really mind because instead of speaking, Bobby presses up for a kiss which is  _ way _ better. John kisses back, his heart thumping so hard against his chest he can barely  _ breathe _ through it. He has to suck in a breath through his nose then pull back when his lungs  _ still _ burn, letting out a silly little laugh before he moves back in for another kiss. 

Their lips press together for a moment that stretches into an eternity, closed mouth to closed mouth. John’s fingers move to press against the skin of Bobby’s neck, slipping his fingers into the neckline of his shirt to keep the other boy close as they kiss. John’s eyes are closed tight and his heart is pounding in his ears and everything is  _ perfect. _

And then it gets better. 

Bobby opens his mouth and draws John in with a moan. He has no idea what the hell he’s doing but he presses forward for more, their open lips gliding together, slick with spit in a way that makes John’s core pulse with arousal. 

_ Fuck, _ John hasn’t ever felt anything like this. They made out, once, when they were thirteen and wanted to know what all the older kids were talking about. It wasn’t  _ anything _ like this; Bobby hadn’t brushed his teeth after having fish for lunch and John didn’t want Bobby touching any part of him save for the press of their mouths, and they’d both given up after a few seconds. 

_ This _ was what the older kids had been talking about, all those years ago. 

Bobby tastes  _ fresh. _ There’s something cool about his mouth that makes John ache for more, that makes him open up his own mouth wider and press against Bobby, clumsy and wet and  _ burning _ with arousal. His tongue flicks out and swipes over Bobby’s top lip to draw it into his mouth, and he closes his lips around it to  _ suck _ in a way that pulls a moan from Bobby’s lips that sends fire racing along his veins. 

He has no idea what he’s doing but he knows it feels  _ so good. _ Arousal is burning like fire in his gut, and he knows that if he tried to wrap his mutation around a flame, right now, he’d lose control too. He is  _ so glad _ he got over his candle phase ‘cause he can only imagine how pissed the Professor would be if he sent the school up in flames. 

With the way that Bobby is kissing him, his tongue swiping along John’s teeth and making him  _ leak, _ he figures it wouldn’t even be his fault. 

It all feels so good. The stretch of his thighs across Bobby’s lap, Bobby’s racing pulse against his knuckles, Bobby’s fingers squeezing his thighs rhythmically, Bobby’s erection and the way John can grind his arousal into him. 

“Fuck, John,” Bobby hisses, pulling back and tossing his head back into the wall. “F-Fuck, you’ve g-gotta hold off.” Bobby’s hands are still tight on his thighs, and he arches his chest forward in a way that presses his erect nipples into his shirt. John wonders what they’d taste like. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, worried and hurried as he brushes Bobby’s hair back from his flushed forehead. 

“You’re gonna make me come like a loser,” Bobby whispers, his eyes still on the ceiling and missing the way John has to bite into his bottom lip so hard he almost splits is his skin to keep from moaning ridiculously. 

“W-What if that was my goal?” John asks, trying his best to sound cool and confident and  _ not _ like the virgin losers they both are. 

Bobby laughs, though, which is better than disgust. Bobby straightens up to look at him, and his hands slide around John’s side to hold him in a loose hug that makes his heart feel warm. “Maybe, uhm, not yet?” Bobby asks him, quiet and hesitant, and John nods his head before leaning in and stealing another slow, sweet kiss. 

They trade long, lingering kisses that John can hardly believe are real after wanting this so bad for so long. His heart is still racing, the beat of it echoing in his ears as his fingers pet along the back of Bobby’s hair as he kisses him. There’s nothing hurried about these long, dragging kisses, and John lets himself get lost in them as everything he’s ever wanted comes to life before his eyes. 

Bobby pulls back to breathe, so John sways back until he’s sitting upright across Bobby’s thighs. 

“Sorry for just, uh, jumpin’ ya like that,” John whispers, keeping his eyes on Bobby’s mussed hair and smiling to himself when he realizes it’s messed up from  _ his _ fingers. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand,” Bobby tells him seriously, before he laughs awkwardly. “I... uh, I’ve never really been the brightest with this stuff, ya know?”

“Yeah, Bobs, I’m not fucking blind.” Bobby laughs, so John leans forward to steal another kiss. 

There are words rolling through the back of his mind, slow and easy, but he wants to voice them. The only problem is that he doesn’t know  _ how,  _ and he really doesn’t know how to ask them without sounding like an idiot. Only... maybe it doesn’t matter if he sounds like an idiot? Bobby’s tongue is down his throat and he’s known John for _ ever, _ clearly he knows what type of idiot John is and doesn’t mind it, right?

He pulls back to take a breath, dotting a few little kisses to Bobby’s cheek before he sits up. He looks down at the boy he’s been in love with for five years, the boy who’s  _ loved him _ for almost as long, and takes a deep breath. 

“D-Does this mean...” John trails off as he tries to ask what he wants to, what he  _ needs _ to ask, but he can’t force the words out. Bobby makes a questioning noise, his face such a pretty pink, and John shakes his head sharply. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid, baby,” Bobby says seriously. John’s heart trips over itself.

“Baby, huh?” John asks, grinning widely when Bobby drops his head and mutters something embarrassed. John presses forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and pulls back to say, “Guess that probably means we’re datin’, huh?”

Bobby looks up at him with a grin, wide and lopsided and so fucking beautiful John  _ has _ to lean in and kiss him. 

It doesn’t last, broken by Bobby’s bright, roaring laugh as he surges forward and  _ tackles John back onto the bed. _ John absolutely does  _ not _ squeal as his back hits the mattress, not at all, and he only groans a little when Bobby shifts them around until the other boy’s long-ass fucking legs are  _ not _ tucked up under John’s back. 

It takes a second for him to orient himself, but when he does, he widens the spread of his legs so that Bobby can settle down between them. The other boy is holding himself up, too far for John to kiss which is  _ rude, _ so John wraps his legs around Bobby’s thighs to keep him close. 

“You are  _ definitely _ my boyfriend,” Bobby tells him seriously, his hands slipping under John’s shirt to run up his sides in a way that steals his breath and pulses warm arousal through his belly.  _ “Mine,”  _ Bobby growls, kind of hilariously but also hot enough that instead of a laugh, a moan slips past John’s lips as he tugs Bobby in for a long,  _ long  _ kiss. 

They have  _ years _ to make up for, after all. They might as well start putting the work in. 


End file.
